


From The Dark

by jungle_ride



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24272023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jungle_ride/pseuds/jungle_ride
Summary: Vampire AU!Merlin remembers how it used to be. Unfortunately Morgana is far too practical about how things are now.
Relationships: Merlin/Morgana (Merlin)
Kudos: 18





	From The Dark

Merlin stirs from sleep with a restless need burning inside of him. It licks its way through his body, curling around every inch of coldness. In the hollow of his throat, pulsing with intensity, was the centre for the inferno: the hunger.  
  
It’s morning; his time. The moon has risen and stars are scattered around. Rising with purpose, Merlin traces his way through the rooms of his flat, through the bedroom, the living room, until his bare feet touch the cool surface of tiles. Although his initial transfer out of bed had been done with instinctual intent, his pace slows dramatically as he approaches his destination. A pale skinned hand hovers over the door, fingers dancing along the handle. He hesitates. The itch flares, prickling along his jaw line like sharp needles. Flexing his muscles he twitches his neck, attempting to work out the throb. Every part of him aches for release. Tightening his grip Merlin struggles to rule his own body.  
  
Despite knowing he can never extinguish the flames, Merlin’s determined to try. With great effort, he removes his hand from temptation and reaches instead for a glass. Though he drinks one, two, seven glasses of fresh cool water, it does nothing to quell the burning inferno. Merlin slams the glass down on the marble table top in frustration. It smashes into tiny shards.  
  
“Shit!” jumping back to avoid collision with the falling fragments, Merlin ends up in the living room, falling head over heels over the leather couch. Flipping himself with feline grace he lands in a crouch. Merlin stands upright, tutting at himself gruffly as he watches as the last glistening remains of the glass fall to the floor. A soft mocking laugh floats through the air. His body stiffens.  
  
Holding his breath Merlin concentrates, locating the intruder. The scent of perfume tainted ever so slightly with an iron like substance floods his nostrils. He struggles to keep still. The trespasser is silent now; aware their laugh has given them away.  
  
Merlin waits tensely for a sign of the intruder’s whereabouts. Suddenly they are on the move, approaching him with incredible speed. Merlin hears the flutter of fabric and swift footsteps that would be missed by human hearing, but still lacks the speed necessary to meet his opponent head on; they’ve circled him, coming at him from behind. Legs wrap themselves around his waist and slender arms enfold his neck tightly.  
  
“Hello _lover._ ” hot breath curls down his neck making the hairs stand on end. In this close proximity the iron smell is more potent, causing in his tongue to dart out to taste the air. Throat twitching with longing Merlin glances over his shoulder. He glimpses dark hair, pale skin, red lips and a pair of greenish blue eyes.  
  
“Morgana,” Although his voice is neutral, inside he’s continuing his usual struggle of morals. Part of him is pleased, but it comes from a part of him long since drowned in pools of pain and rage. For the most part he wants to drag her off by her hair, yanking it so hard that clumps come out in his clenched fists.  
  
She’s still clinging to him tightly, legs digging themselves into his hips rather painfully. Automatically Merlin’s arms reach down for her legs, hooking his hands underneath her knees. He strokes the exposed skin roughly with his thumb until she softens her grip. Humming contently, Morgana nuzzles her face into his neck. Sharp teeth graze against skin, causing just enough pain for the gesture not to be considered too loving.  
  
“Miss me?” Her tongue darts out, swirling over where his pulse should be pounding. He remembers a time when this would drive him to distraction. The sun would have been shining brightly upon them as they picnicked in the park. His mind would've been preoccupied by work, his ear attached to his mobile, despite Morgana’s pouts and protests. The way she would then kiss up his neck until he gave in. Bright smiles, laughter, warmth, love. Did he miss her? Yes. Well, maybe...no. Yes...  
  
“No.”  
  
_"Liar.”_ Morgana’s lips turn up in a smirk as she whispers the word with satisfaction.  
  
Merlin tugs at her legs sharply, untangling her from his back. Before her feet have touched the ground he’s at the door, opening it with such force the hinges creak, wobbling in their brackets.  
  
Sauntering over to him, hips swishing in a seductive manner Morgana coyly leers. For the first time he notices what she’s wearing. Merlin’s jaw slackens. A tight strappy red top that hugs her in all the right places; so low cut that a glimpse of her black lace bra could be seen, a leather jacket over the top. Her black skirt matches her black stilettos, with what seems like miles of bare leg in between. For a second Merlin’s mind takes a turn for the gutter before he realises exactly why she’s dressed in such a provocative manner. His mind turns icy.  
  
“Good for business, how can they resist?” Pirouetting with grace, she lets out a scornful laugh, inflicting an invisible wound to him as he is forced to see just how much she’s changed.  
  
Merlin turns his head to look out into the hallway pointedly, his disgust evident. Morgana cosies up into him, placing a hand over Merlin’s on the brass handle. She’s not deterred when he stiffens at her touch.  
  
“Don’t give me that look.” She speaks calmly but it’s full of aggression. Her sweet breath, infected with bitterness, wafts into his face.  
  
“I’m not in the mood for your games.” Merlin growls back as he bares his teeth in a snarl; it still shocks him how rough his voice can get now.  
  
“What games?” Reaching a hand up to her chest, she feigns innocence. “I just came to see how you are; after all I haven’t seen you in what, months?” Her eyes shine brightly as she smiles sweetly; so sweetly his teeth feel like they’re rotting.  
  
“Besides,” she continues, still pressed against him, her free hand tracing patterns on his bare chest. “You’re the one playing games now.” Her eyes flicker to the open door. Merlin sighs as she pushes the door shut. He doesn’t protest since he knows she has a point.  
  
“There, much better.”  
  
Morgana watches Merlin intently as he make his way into the living room. He feels her analysing him as she speaks, condescendingly.  
  
“Now let’s try this again.”  
  
Gritting his teeth at her tone Merlin holds back from repeating his inner thoughts such as _‘fuck off’_ or _‘why don’t you just take a walk in the sunlight’_. Instead he lets her invade his personal space as her narrow eyes glow in the dark.  
  
“Hi.” Hands snake their way up into his hair and her leg stokes his. Her breath trickles down to curl around his collar bone. The breeze it creates just prickles against the hair on his abdomen. Drawing back, she raises a dark eyebrow in warning when he doesn’t answer.  
  
Merlin sighs, resigned.  
  
“Hi.” He intended it to come out exasperated but instead his voice is warm, laced with the affection he’s attempted to bury. His hands automatically come to rest around her waist. Morgana’s lips barely move but Merlin still sees the soft smile, hidden to anyone but him.  
  
“It’s been a while.” Fingertips rub circles into his skin, brushing down over his shoulder blades; they twitch and loosen under her touch.  
  
“Yes,” Merlin acknowledges. He won’t tell her he knows exactly how long… four months, two weeks, three days, and.... He glances quickly at the clock in the kitchen; 4 hours, 15 minutes, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 seconds. He hates himself for knowing. Tightening his grip around her, Merlin pulls her flush against him, unable to deny the longing his body feels. Humming with satisfaction and triumph Morgana cups his cheek, looking at him with glazed eyes.  
  
“Did you miss me?”  
  
Here it was, the big question, wrapped in a thousand other questions. The game.  
  
The bitch already knows, she just wants him to say it out loud so she can rejoice in his confusion. He hates her. Wants to tear out her un-beating heart. Stamp on it till it was nothing but a stain on the carpet, just like she’d done to him.  
  
The back of her left hand strokes over his chest, right above his frozen heart. A twinge of pain courses through him as something snags on his skin. He glances down briefly and inhales sharply. The gurgling anger in the pit of his stomach falters. There, glinting in shadows, are the diamonds set in the antique ring, still resting comfortably on her ring finger. _Raise a glass to the soon to be bride and groom: Merlin and Morgana!_. The memory floods back to him and his heart yearns for what could have been.  
  
It had taken him forever to find the perfect ring; he’d searched all over the bloody place; shops, internet, brochures… _nothing_. Then, gleaming in the gloomy window of an old antique shop he’d found it. Recollecting his rush of utter exhilaration, Merlin slides a hand from her back until his fingertips brush the silky material covering her abdomen. She smiles coyly, knowing exactly what he’s noticed. What she wanted him to see.   
  
Merlin recalled his plan of proposal. He was supposed to have done it at the restaurant, but simply couldn’t wait when he woke up to her bare back aglow in the morning light. It’d been tortuous waiting as it was. Gasping loudly she’d clutched at her chest, looking between him, the ring and back again. Then without warning she had thrown herself at him with gusto. They’d ended up in a tangle of sheets and happiness. It was ironic really that the same night their worlds had come crashing down. Merlin reels as he’s caught between memories and reality.  
  
It didn’t mean anything though, did it? The fact she was wearing the ring. She just never said no to a pretty piece of jewellery. It was who she was, right? So why then did it make his stomach clench and that spring of hope bubble inside of him? He tried to remember if, after his ‘transformation’ she had still worn it. He didn’t know if she’d worn it the entire time she’d been missing. He’d been busy printing and hanging up missing posters, banging on police doors, hiring private detectives. Searching day and night for any clues as to what had happened to his fiancée.  
  
She’d had it on when she’d finally returned to him. But then she’d had to, hadn’t she? Needed to play the part; it made sense. Actually, the more he thought about it he realised that wasn’t true. It would have made more sense had she not had it. After all, who had heard of someone being kidnapped wearing a bloody expensive white gold diamond engagement ring and their captives not taking it? But he hadn’t cared at the time because he’d just been so ecstatic to have her back. He remembered opening the door to find her standing before him in the torn up, blood stained clothes she’d last been seen in. Merlin had taken her in his arms, kissed her all over as he collapsed to the floor with sheer relief, sobbing uncontrollably.  
  
“S _he’s never taken the ring off_ ,” a faint voice inside his head murmurs. Merlin realises with surprise it’s speaking truth. He can’t believe he’s never noticed before. Then again he’s been so preoccupied with anger and hate every time he’s seen her, after that delightful evening where she sucked the life out of him, that a ring didn’t hold much significance. But now… maybe he’d been wrong, maybe there was hope. He should tell her the truth. How he missed her, longed for her, maybe......Morgana’s eyes gleam, red lips turn upwards. An icy chill prickles over him like needles and pins. No. Nothing has changed. So what if she wore that stupid ring. She still murdered, killed without a care. She had still made him into a monster.  
  
Merlin leans in closer, lips almost pressed against hers and digs his nails into her hips with enough force to cause Morgana to bite her own lip in pain. Then voice full of venom he answers her question.  
  
“No, I never missed you!”  
  
Kicking him hard in the shins, Morgana tugs painfully on the locks of dark hair held in her fists.  
  
“OW! _Bitch_!” Merlin shoves her off him, nails scrapping down her arms as he releases her.  
  
“Don’t fucking lie to me then!” Snarling she grabs him by the throat, pulling him closer. Retaliating automatically he grasps hers in return. Teeth are bared, grips tighten and slacken. Their heated breath blows in each others’ faces as they growl and glare, but remain dead locked. Eyes flashing with deadly meaning they challenge each other silently _‘Go on then, do it, fucking try!’_ Minutes speed by as they whirl around in mutual frustration.  
  
The air becomes thick with tension. Their feuding atoms steam up the room as the intensity of their struggle continues until, without warning, lips collide. Who moved first was indeterminable, and frankly, neither of them care.  
  
Mouths clash upon each other hard and desperate, teeth clashing, tongues dancing. Merlin gives Morgana’s throat a quick squeeze so her breath hitches as she gasps then drops his hands back to her hips, nails scratching.  
  
Morgana’s teeth graze against his bottom lip, drawing it into her mouth. She sucks at it as her right hand claws at his bare back, her left scraping at his throat. In a flash of movement she forces him back, lips still attached to his, moving with imperious passion. Stumbling backwards onto the couch their bodies part for the smallest of moments, then she’s on top of him again, ivory legs straddling him, lips plunging, smothering his. It’s in times like these Merlin feels a small spark of gratitude that he no longer needs to breathe. He despises himself for thinking that part of this terrible curse is a gift, but when she’s kissing him like this it’s hard not to.  
  
Merlin’s hands travel all over, tracing the curves of her body. Over her legs and arms, they travel. Under her skirt and top. Fingertips grazing, leaving a fiery trail in their wake. Goosebumps scatter over his bare chest as her blood red nails scrape up and down, travelling dangerously low before they return to bury themselves into the darkness of his hair. A trickle of laughter escapes her perfectly formed lips as he sucks on the two small puncture marks, long since scarred over on her neck. Her laughter wakes him from the daze of lust; it’s full of ridicule and self satisfied triumph.  
  
Pushing her off him roughly Merlin stands up, rolling his shoulders back as if trying to shake off her touch. It still lingers on his flesh, smouldering. Retreating into the kitchen he grabs a dustpan and brush bending down ready to clear the scattered broken glass. He needs to get away from her, concentrate his mind on something, anything but her.  
  
“So predictable!” Morgana huffs as she smoothes down her rumpled clothes.  
  
A hint of a whine is laced in the exasperated tone; it’s that small infection that turns his head. For a moment he swears he sees disappointment and an illusion of something else gracing her porcelain features before she corrects herself. Turning his head away Merlin focuses on the mess he can so easily sweep up. How had they gotten here? He knows the facts, yet when he repeats them in his head they’re dead and cold, just like them.  
  
He’d noticed a change when Morgana returned to him; she was much paler, her skin colder. She had insisted on getting black out blinds that locked out every inch of sunlight. Refusing to go out during the day, Morgana had instead spent her days sleeping. She didn’t eat much, and when she did she grimaced. Merlin had put it all down to her traumatic experience. He’d thought that after a while everything would get back to a happier place…how wrong he’d been.  
  
Merlin exhales loudly. He recalls in great detail the little moments of pure bliss. The lazy days snuggled in the warmth of blankets and sheets. Sprawling out on the couch, her head on his chest with the T.V as their candle light. Nights of passionate embraces both fiery and tender. The warm glow that would race through him every time he looked at her face. His favourite was the greeting she had given him when he returned from work. He’d barely stepped through the front before she’d been upon him; arms around his neck, lips attached to his, bodies pressed close, melting into each other. Her giddy delight as she pulled back and spoke between kisses _“Welcome home, I missed you, I love you.”_  
  
Righting himself, Merlin chucks the glass into the open bin, attempting to do the same with the memory. It’s too painful.  
  
_I love you_ …how far away those three words seemed now, not since the night of his change had she or he spoken them. She didn’t feel them anymore. How could she after everything she’d done to him? How was this love?  
  
Sauntering into the kitchen, Morgana lifts herself up onto the counter, watching him as he puts away the dustpan and brush, swinging her legs about.  
  
“Did you _really_ think water would quench the thirst?” Her mockery breaks into his thoughts, ripping holes into him as his attention is drawn to the itch that burns in his throat.  
  
“Shut up!” _Stupid bitch_ he thinks, mind hardening. _Shit_ , now she’s set him off again, the potent smell of iron wafts from the fridge, calling to him. Merlin presses a hand to his head as his mind takes him down that familiar street covered in red. His body throbs, begging for release. Morgana’s eyebrows raise, as she watches his reaction, lips twitching in movements he can’t read.  
  
“How long since you’ve last eaten?” She inquires with what he almost thinks is concern. He scoffs at the notion. Merlin glares at her, eyes burning as he struggles with his inner turmoil. He hears a click and then suddenly the light comes on, glaring at first. He shields his eyes; they’re so incredibly sensitive. It takes a while longer than it should for them to adjust. He can feel her watching him as he blinks through the light, studying him with extreme intensity, the kind that makes your skin itch.  
  
A glass flies towards him, fast and quick whilst he’s still adjusting. Merlin’s hand flies in front of his face, just before it hits him head on. His reflexes are slow though, mind preoccupied with that alluring smell so close to his grasp. His grip slackens and the glass slips. A blur of colour moves towards him. Merlin waits for the smash but it never comes. Looking down he sees Morgana’s slender fingers gripping the glass tightly, clouded eyes looking up at him. In two seconds the glass is back in the cupboard and she has hold of his face, palms flat against his skin. Her blue eyes have darkened, green speckling them. Fingernails graze across his skin as she examines him.  
  
“How long Merlin?”  
  
There it is again, high pitched inflections oozing of what can only be concern. The idea is ridiculous, but there it is; real and true.  
  
She’s too close again. He wants to flinch away but the way she’s speaking to him, stroking his face, her eyes brimming with softness, reminding him. It’s like how she used to be. So he finds himself confiding in her, the way he used to.  
  
“A while,” he sighs. “A long, _looong_ time.”  
  
Morgana’s eyes flare, lips pursing. Dropping her hands she marches to the fridge, determination etched across her features, body stiff and rigid with it. The icy cold fear creeps upon him as she yanks the fridge open, unveiling all that he hates and desires. The smell overwhelms the room. Bombarding his nostrils it whets his appetite and fuels his lust.  
  
It takes all his strength not to rush over, knock her body out of the way and feast upon the assortment of jarred red liquid. The animal inside of him stirs. Turning his back, Merlin braces himself against the counter with one hand, the other slamming over his face to help him hold his breath. Although he’s blocking his senses to the smell it’s no use, it’s inside him now, overpowering him. Merlin pushes down on the counter hard, as if the action will help him bury the thirst.  
  
“Animal blood!” Morgana turns her nose up, disdain evident. “Ewww that’s disgusting!” Her nose crinkles up; lips upturned in a grimace. Reaching into the illuminated box containing heaven and hell she extracts a jar, sliding it onto the counter before shutting the door.  
  
Merlin can no longer hear anything she’s saying; his head is pounding with a heartbeat no longer in use. With quick hands Morgana pours the contents of the jar into a glass. He watches, wetting his lips, eyes fixated as it fills up. He gulps, body twitching. An invisible force pulls him towards his oasis. His hand is already out stretched, fingers clasping at air, desperate to get it. Half of him is screaming for him to stop, while the other’s willing him on. Morgana’s eyes sparkle with that wicked glint as she offers him the glass. He takes it from her with a rough snatch. The fire inside his throat pulsates. So close now, so very close. He’s revolted by the lack of self control. But he’s possessed by the need and a part of him loves it, rejoicing in the chaos.  
  
Merlin falters with the glass pressed to his lips, the iron smell flooding his nostrils, burning him. It feels like his hunger is clawing at his brain, screaming desperately, _drink, drink, drink._ It feels all consuming, but still he hesitates.  
  
“The thirst always wins, Merlin. Drink.”  
  
His mind is clouded, but Morgana’s voice echo’s, offering a small moment of stillness and reawakens the soul within him. The human.  
  
Merlin doesn’t know where the power, the strength comes from, but it’s rising within him fast now, stilling his movements. Unbelievably he finds he’s able to deny his thirst. He throws the glass away like it’s burning him, not caring where he chucks it so long as it’s away from him. As he races into the living room he hears an exclamation of _‘fuck’_ and the shattering of glass.  
  
Looking back Merlin stares. Morgana stands, arms outstretched, looking down at herself. Blood is covering her shirt, dripping down onto the black material of her skirt. He watches transfixed as the droplets fall past her calf and down her slender ankle. It caresses her skin, leaving a trail of smudged colour.  
  
Merlin turns his back to her, the sight too tempting, too alluring. He hears Morgana let out a sigh and with quick fingers pick up the broken glass, dumping them in the dustbin.  
  
“You know, maybe you should get plastic instead.”  
  
Merlin hears the squelch of her blood stained clothes as she moves towards him. Shutting his eyes tight he clenches his jaw as she approaches; he can’t deny himself for long, but the sheer desperation to hold out for just a few more minutes spurs him on. _Just a little longer, a little longer_. Morgana stops by his side and he can feel her eyes on him, burning into his skin, but still he keeps his eyes closed, continuing his mantra. _Just a little longer, a little longer_. He’s pretty sure she’s shaking her head at him now, thinking he’s an idiot. No doubt with that stupid smirk of hers plastered on her face. _Damn her_.  
  
Her presence disappears and he’s left alone. For a split second Merlin believes she’s actually left entirely and is left with the feeling of loneliness and disappointment. The thought irks him; he shouldn’t want her to be here, he doesn’t, he wants her gone for good. Burnt, sliced, staked it didn’t matter to him just so long as she was history. _Lair!_ the voice inside his head teases. It sounds oddly like Morgana. Merlin puffs out air and runs a hand through his hair. When he hears the sound of water hitting the ceramic floor of the shower sparks of elation sweep through his body and he curses himself. This was all so screwed up.  
  
He’s unable to stay in the living room; there’s blood on the floor, and although it seemed his strength was strong enough to contain the animal, it wouldn’t last much longer. The beast would roar; the cage would break. So with reluctance, he drags his body away into the bedroom. He sits on the bed uncomfortably, listening to the water splash and watching the steam drift out of the open door. The naked temple of her body awash with water plagues his thoughts. Her hair plastered to her face, strands covering her eyes, just waiting for his fingers to brush them back. Lips dripping droplets, wet and delicious, and begging to be kissed dry. Shifting restlessly Merlin wrings his hands.  
  
He’s aware that Morgana’s left the door open on purpose, trying to tempt him. She could have been done in two seconds but she was drawing it out, knowing precisely where his mind was heading the longer she stayed in there. She wants them to play in his mind over and over…. Oh she was good, he had to admit it; an utter bitch, but good. He’s determined not to let her get the best of him though. That’s something he’s learned in the last months; he’s determined, if nothing else. And so he waits. Eventually Morgana emerges from the steam, giving up on him. Her eyes find his straight away. Merlin feels his jaw drop at bit as his mind goes blank. Morgana smirks and saunters her wet, naked body past him. Merlin shakes his head sharply; jolting himself out the shock…yep, the bitch was _good_.  
  
The ruffling of material echoes in the silence as she pulls on a pair of jeans and a tank top from the bottom draw of the dresser, tantalisingly slow just to taunt him. They’re her own clothes. Merlin had thrown away most of her stuff when he’d first awakened from his transformation. He’d trashed the entire flat, smashing, shredding anything that reminded him of her, as if the action would rid his heart of feelings and his head of memories. However, there were certain objects he just simply couldn’t bring himself to destroy. Instead, he’d placed them in the drawers, meaning to obliterate them later. But every time he’d opened the drawer the past came flooding back, and he was reminded for a split second of what it was to be happy. Sidetracked by the memories, the purpose of his actions would leave him.  
  
Morgana had discovered the clothes on another one of her little visits. She acted like it meant nothing but within seconds of finding them they’d been entangled in the sheets of his bed. That’s how it is with them, forever giving mixed messages. Never black and white, full of blurred colour and grey.  
  
“You need to drink,” she states as she zips up the jeans. Merlin’s eyes harden and darkness clouds his vision.  
  
“Shut up,” he growls through clenched teeth, knowing where this conversation is heading and the effect it would have.  
  
“You can’t fight it forever.”  
  
“ _Shut up!_ ” He elongates each word, gritting them out through clenched teeth and growing anger.  
  
“Eventually you’re going to give in and…”  
  
Storming towards her, Merlin grabs her roughly by the throat, pinning her with as much force as he can muster against the stone wall. Merlin's face was inches from hers, eyes narrowed, nose to nose, lips brushing again hers as he snarled low and menacingly.  
  
“I said shut up!”  
  
Morgana’s lips curl up in a sneering leer. Despite the fact Merlin was looking threatening and animalistic she didn’t fear him. He would never actually seriously hurt her. Though she couldn’t deny her body was sizzling from his touch, and a slight chill was creping up her spine, as he continued to glare at her with those stern, hard eyes.  
  
“Touchy aren’t we?” taunting with a chuckle, Morgana pushes at his chest lightly, making to remove him from her. Merlin slams her back down, hands squeezing her throat until the breath’s crushed out of her. Luckily she doesn’t need it. Gasping Morgana stares at him in shock…. Oh they were rough with each other; lord knows how many times they've trashed this apartment. She knew Merlin had taken many a complaint about the racket, but this was different; there was a frantic wildness behind his eyes, his jaw was twitching madly.  
  
Eyes clouding over, she straightens up, squaring her shoulders. She slams the flat of her palm against his bare chest, shoving him across the room. Crashing into the opposite wall, Merlin slides down with a gruff expulsion of air.  
  
With expert speed she darts across the room pinning him against the floor before he could steady himself. Drops of water drip from her still wet hair and onto his face. The dampness helps Merlin to wake from the shock.  
  
“This is ridiculous. You need to drink Merlin.”  
  
There it was again, the hint of concern behind her jaded voice.  
  
“You’re too weak to fight me, so don’t,” Morgana declares as Merlin struggles against her. Huffing, Merlin eased his movements, letting his muscles relax as he stares up at her hovering figure.  
  
“Better.” increasing the pressure of her knees against his thighs she leans in closer, planting a chaste kiss on his lips before smiling down with faked sweetness. It was like she was giving a reward for his behaviour. Rolling his eyes, Merlin sighed.  
  
“Now,” Morgana continued “We’re going to go into the living room and I’m going to pour you a nice cup of _delicious,_ ” her nose wrinkles up as she forces the word ‘delicious’ out, “animal blood.” Merlin starts to lift up, not liking where this is all heading. Morgana forces him back down. “And you’re going to drink this time! OK?”  
  
Listing to her patronising tone Merlin resists the urge to spit in her face.  
  
“No it’s not bloody ok.” Merlin hisses, teeth glinting in the light. Nails jab into his wrists, he winces slightly. Lifting up so she still has him pinned to the floor, but is sitting more comfortably, Morgana sighs, exasperated. She’s had enough now; it was getting old.  
  
“Look you moron, if you continue this you’re going to end up killing the neighbours.”  
  
Merlin ceases his movements, _killing the neighbours_ ; her words stir up the memory of his re-birth into hell. He’d returned from work to find her crouched over a body in the living room. Their next door neighbour. She’d been sucking blood from his neck with what could only be described as a desperate animalistic need. Horrified didn’t quite cover the emotion that had rushed through him as he stood rooted to the spot. She’d moved with incredible speed; he hadn’t even seen her move until she’d grabbed him and tied him to a chair, blood still dripping down her chin. Merlin hadn’t struggled or shouted. He hadn’t even breathed.  
  
“Not that I bloody care about that, but I don’t want to listen to your monologues of self hatred over it. I get enough of that already!” Morgana continued, shaking him from his thoughts.  
  
“You cared that night,” Merlin blurts out before he realises what he’s doing.  
  
“What?” Frowning, Morgana tries to decipher what the hell he was referring to.  
  
“Nothing,” he mutters, turning his head away. Merlin studies the grain of the wooden floor with extreme concentration, as the memory plays back in the corners of his mind.  
  
Morgana had finally explained the truth to him that night. She hadn’t been kidnapped, she’d been bitten, turned, and was now a vampire. He had actually laughed at that point, went into complete hysterics. A vampire! It was too ridiculous to believe. Not possible, but here it was right in front of him, in the form of the woman he loved. Despite his best efforts to deny it he couldn’t. All her strange behaviour on her return made sense to him then, but that didn’t stop his head from whirling at the news.  
  
To say that it took him a while to process the information was an understatement, but eventually he had. After all, she’d claimed she had killed her maker after learning as much of the vampire life and powers from him as possible so that she could return to him. Told him she loved him, and the incident with the neighbour had been a terrible accident. She hadn’t meant to kill him, only she was just so hungry since she’d not been able to feed easily, as she couldn’t store blood in the fridge. But now that he knew the truth, everything would be okay. Looking back Merlin knew what an absolute fool he’d been to believe her. He’d given up everything for her; quit his job, moved. Cut off as much contact with everyone as possible. He’d actually gone and bought blood from the butchers, heating it up for her and adding little mini cocktail parasols to keep the mood light. That was until he found out she was still drinking from humans and killing them.  
  
“That was before you poisoned me!” Her cold sharp voice cuts through to shatter his memory and force him back into the present. Merlin curses under his breath; he hates the way she can read him so bloody easily sometimes. It was infuriating.  
  
“I had no choice, you were killing innocent people,” he barks back. What was he supposed to have done, let her continue? He could never live with himself. So he’d done the hardest thing he’d ever had to do: slipped holy water into the blood and waited. The image of her choking, skin releasing steam as she burned internally still haunted his dreams. In retrospect, he should have added the whole bottle of holy water into the blood, because the amount he’d added was enough to have her writhing for a while, weak for months, but not enough to kill.  
  
“ _Innocent_ , what makes them so god damn innocent?” she sneers, lowering herself back down so her face is inches away.  
  
“You forget, when I drink, their memories overflow into me and all I see are scumbags, liars, cheaters, drunks, druggies, dead beats, abusers, paedophiles!” Her face is contorted aggressively, eyes flashing as she relives the memories of those she’s drunk from. Merlin can’t relate to that; when he drinks no memories come to him. The blood has faded, whatever memories it held has long fizzled out. It’s like flat soda; it still quenches the thirst but doesn’t give you the same satisfying buzz. Still, he didn’t care what memories she saw, how many nasty people she’d killed; there were still those who were good, and even the bad didn’t deserve to die... _right_?  
  
“That doesn’t give you the right, they’re still human.”

Shaking her head, Morgana’s lips curl in a frustration.  
  
“What’s the difference? They’re still technically animals and you drink animal blood.”  
  
“I wouldn’t have too if you hadn’t turned me into this!” he defends himself, almost shouting.  
  
“Well maybe you shouldn’t have tried to kill me then!” she hisses into his face, spitting venom. They remain silent, both stewing in their anger. Suddenly her face changes, relaxing as a thought crosses her mind and she smiles.  
  
“Tell me Merlin, why didn’t you use a stake; after all that would have been the most logical choice.”  
  
He doesn’t answer. If he’s honest with himself he knows why: because he’d half hoped that it wouldn’t work. She was, after all, still Morgana; his sun and moon. His jaw twitches just enough for her to get the message. Her tongue darts out, licking the side of his face, and he shudders, flinching away.  
  
“So appetizingly cute! You know, baby, yours was the best blood I’ve tasted.”  
  
Merlin jerks, struggling in her grasp once more, repulsed by her words.  
  
“ _I hate you_ ; I hate what you’ve done to me.” If he wasn’t such a coward he’d have taken a walk in the sunlight long ago, but his value of life was still too strong.  
  
“Ditto!”  
  
Lifting off him, she dusts down her body, smoothing back her still damp hair. Merlin shifts on the floor, watching her carefully. He wonders what the next move is going to be in this twisted game; it changes from one thing to another so quickly. It was hard to keep up.  
  
“Let’s go get you something to drink!” Morgana offers her hand. Ignoring her offering, Merlin rights himself on his own. He hears her tut and chuckle in amusement and glares at her. Raising an eyebrow in acknowledgment she licks her lips and moves into the living room. He follows, giving in, only because the thirst is driving him crazy. He knows, although he hates to admit it, that Morgana’s right. If he didn’t drink soon he was going to get a sniff of the fresh meat surrounding him in the building and lose all control.  
  
Within seconds a glass has been poured by her slender fingers, heated in the microwave, and held up for him to take. Still, despite himself Merlin hesitates. He still wants to resist. Morgana rolls her eyes and gestures with the glass pointedly.  
  
“Drink!” Although she says it with sternness he can hear the worry. The diamond ring glints, reflecting in the glass and catching his eye once more.  
  
“Why do you still wear that?” He asks curiously. He truly wants to know; has since he saw it earlier, but he was also using it as a tactic to delay the inevitable.  
  
“Stop delaying and drink!” her voice is tired, fed up with the continual roundabout they had been doing tonight.  
  
“Answer the question and I will!” He challenges. Sliding up onto the counter Morgana dips her index finger into the cup, swirling the blood around before extracting it and smoothing the blood over her lips, like lipstick.  
  
“Why bother? You already know the answer!” She almost moans.  
  
“Do I?” He’s pushing his luck, but now he really wants to hear her say it. Morgana was right; he already knew why, but the satisfaction of hearing her say it is just too perfect not to try for. He knew why she pushed so much for the “I miss you,” earlier.  
  
“You know I suppose this blood isn’t so bad. It’s not fresh, and doesn’t have the same zing as human’s, but I could get used to it.” Morgana changes the subject, voice contemplating. Merlin studies her face. It’s almost like there’s a promise of hope there, like she might actually give up her killings. She’s playing him no doubt, but he can’t help the bubbles of hope that spring up. He takes a few steps closer to her; his stomach almost touches her legs.  
  
“Morgana!” His voice is raw. She sighs resigned.  
  
“The same reason you keep my clothes in that drawer!”  
  
He moves closer, closer to her, closer to the blood. She parts her legs so he can manoeuvre himself between them. His body is humming, knowing what’s coming next. She smirks into his face as her hands come up to grip his shoulders, pulling him so they are pressed flush against one another. Why was it that their game always ended in some form of this moment? It almost made the pain worth it. _Almost_.  
  
“Why do I do that?” he whispers against her lips. He knows it has to be about him; she would never answer if he phrases it as _“why do you do that?”_  
  
“Because you love me.”  
  
He kisses her roughly; tongue invading her mouth. The taste of the blood on her lips overwhelms his senses, making the beast roar. Merlin parts their lips to grab the glass on the counter and downs it in one before plunging his mouth upon hers once more. The bittersweet iron taste mixes between their joined lips. It is hell and heaven mixed so neither can be defined. The thirst always wins but maybe there was another force just as powerful at work too.


End file.
